lyrics

so I've been having quite a week... the kind that would make a good old fashioned Country & Western song. You know what I mean, one of those ones where the dog dies and the pickup gets stolen?

I've been toying with putting it all down since Monday... luckily I managed to get Kenny Rogers moaning "you picked a fine time t leave me, Luuuuciiiiille..." out of my head.

Mine would go like this:

there's a mouse in the attic,
my man's gone on a plane
setting the traps, caught my finger,
oh woe, the pain...

blue cross cancelled our insurance,
claiming we'd lied*
Monday morning
made me want to hide

a note from health services
faxed and sent home
the boy could be suspended if
I don't call them on the phone**

and then there's the tale
of bullying at school
"you'll be bleeding and crying"
from the class's biggest fool***

Tuesday morning brought time
in Julia's class
her teacher's voice
could shatter glass

the kitchen ceiling of the rental
has fallen in
from leaking in the bathroom
buzzing in my brain, makes quite a din

girl has a fever,
it's "that" time of the month
could drink a bottle of wine,
but then undoubtedly someone would hurt themselves and I would be arrested from drunk driving on the way to the hospital...


Okay I lost it at the end there... needs a bit of work, I agree, but maybe it'll make me my first million...

* we did not lie. DID NOT.

**apparently immunizations from Luxembourg do not correspond to Ontario ones. They've had his record for almost 2 years, why the sudden rush (1st notification) to get him up-to-date or suspend him...??? But I've spoken to them, it's in hand.

***holy f*** this is a whole post in and of itself... I get bonus points for not taking the trash-talking, class-disrupting, shitty attitude little f*** out when I went to school to discuss the issue... even when he rolled his eyes at me and accused my son of LYING...

Marc just called from the airport and is through security waiting to board... no delayed flight yet!!

You know this won't end well

This morning I was asleep in the Stu's room. Fast asleep. That lovely heavy sleep where you think you could sleep for days.

Until something woke me up. I tried to figure out which one of my kids was making an annoying scratchy kind of noise - and why on earth were they up so early?

They weren't. It was just me and the scratchy sound, which turned out to be coming from the ceiling. I must have been quite a sight, stumbling around the room, eyes barely open trying to figure out where it was coming from. Hmmmm. This must explain why the Stu woke up at 4:30 this morning and stumbled into our bed.

I am a real wimp in this department. When I was in University I lived in an apartment close to Lakeshore Road and we had itty bitty field mice between the walls. At least the landlady told me they were itty bitty field mice. I was quite convinced that the one who liked to dig by my headboard was an oversized rat who would, at any moment, claw his way through the drywall and maul me in my sleep. Apparently the cat in the apartment was enough to keep them away.

Marc was up, showered, and getting ready to go to the airport. He was dragged into the Stu's room and agreed that yes, there was something there.

I crawled back into my bed with the sleeping Stu and tried to stop imagining colonies of feral varmint living in my ceiling. Films depicting small animals in human-like social settings be damned. I am having visions of the princess in Despereaux. Not good.

Marc agreed that I could do what was necessary while he is away (visions of the rodents producing hundreds of offspring before Wednesday night - we will be run out of the house...) Of course the husband of Nat the Wonderful is out of town too - he is also wonderful, would solve this for me no problem, and has only once ever been out of town on business before. Why now???

I called my mother as soon as the kids were on the bus (which is actually a very common thing). They have had this problem before. She gave me detailed instructions on how to solve it myself (apparently peanut butter is very effective in traps? Ewww.)

So now I have to drag my unshowered (and very dirty haired) self to Canadian Tire, buy traps and try to set them before Julia gets home at 11 am.

It is now 8:41 and have I gone?

Nope, I am blogging. Because procrastination is a wonderful thing.

(I am a wimp and I am fine with that. I know it. Really. Now can you please come set these traps for me?)

buyers remorse...?

Except it's not something I bought so I can't take it back...

I cut my hair off today. Well, not me, but my wonderful hairdresser who I trust completely.

Except now? I have no hair.

I have a love/hate relationship with getting my hair cut. I always believe what the stylist tells me, I always believe that there is a wonderful new me walking out the door of the salon. I swish my locks and feel glamorous. Look at me world with my shiny styled hair!

It usually lasts until the first time I try to do anything with my hair and I spend the next several months cursing the stylist and considering making a voodoo doll of them to jab pins into.

Last year I got the name of a hairdresser from an acquaintance and last January I let her layer my hair. I have had my hair layered many many times before and let's just say it always ends in tears. But I had seen a photo of myself with my long, slightly frizzy mane (taken on a bad day while I was in my son's class trying to do papier-mache with him - bad scene) and I thought things could only get better. And hello - I loved the layers. I loved the haircut. Finally - good hair! I even bought Product to go in it. Product I tell you (you'd have to be married to Marc to get the irony of his Product supply compared to mine).

Anyhow, 3 haircuts and a little over a year later and we arrive at today. Now, things you might need to know beforehand:

1) I made the appointment on Monday when I was in a snit and decided I was going to get my haircut and look good dammit (because those of you who know Marc will know how he HATES it when I do anything to look good. He NEVER wants me to get my hair cut. Never compliments me when I make an effort etc etc etc). (Um that last bit? LIES. All LIES. He's be happy if I went to get my hair done on a monthly/weekly/daily basis.)

2) On Tuesday I said to Marc "On Saturday when I tell you that I am going to see Sylvie and have her cut my hair short you have to say "Don't do it!! Don't cut it short!!"

3) I don't seem to have been able to ditch my February slump (hello? windchill in the negative 20s hasn't helped) and was feeling, oh, I don't know, FED UP with everything.

4) Friday afternoon I came down with a head cold and went to bed at 6 pm. This morning I got up, had a coffee, cleaned the house and went back to bed for another two (or three?) hours. I haven't slept that much since before I had children. I decided to cancel my hair appointment but Marc, he who loves to get his hair cut, protested so vehemently that I figured I really needed a trim. Even though I was obviously not sane.

5) My final words to Marc when I left the house were "What should I do with my hair?" to which he replied with a shrug of his shoulders and an "I don't know. Whatever you want." Traitor (and yes, I am looking for a scapegoat in case I need one in the morning. Is it that obvious?)

So I go to the salon. And emerge an hour and a half later with a lot less hair. As in my hair that used to come down to my shoulder blades no longer even touches my shoulders.

Today I LOVE it. It's cute. It's sassy. We went to a friend's for dinner and she couldn't get over how cute it is.

But in the back of my head I am terrified of washing it and trying to do anything with it myself. I feel kinda naked. Every time I walked past a mirror at my friend's I did a double take.

Isn't it great the things we obsess about at 2:00 am when we can't sleep because we slept enough for two days the night before?